


Taste of Anything

by MissLouisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Future Fic, Minor Character Death, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLouisa/pseuds/MissLouisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison and Scott and Scott have been married for a few years when Stiles returns home, injured, from the military, and crashes in their guest room for a few months. </p><p>His presence coincides with Allison and Scott's marriage hitting a major hurdle - are they having children? - and while Scott and Allison's relationship begins to fall apart, Allison starts spending time with Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for [teenwolfbb](http://teenwolf-bb.livejournal.com/) and you should check out the [fantastic art](http://xandromedovna.livejournal.com/1272.html) by **xandromedovna**.
> 
> This work couldn't have been written without my beloved beta/cheerleader/all-round best friend [Devin](http://devinlefae.tumblr.com), who helped me out with plot woes and listened to me whine for literally months. She's an angel. 
> 
> Background characters and pairings not listed in the tags are: Derek, Cora, Isaac, Danny, and Ethan, with additional Danny/Ethan and Isaac/OFC, and Stiles Stilinski/OFC both past and present.
> 
> Also worth mentioning that this was written as season 3 progressed, so Derek is still an alpha, but so is Scott.

Allison answers the phone just after noon on a Wednesday. She's expecting a telemarketer, because nobody ever really calls.

She doesn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but it's not blocked, which is usually a promising sign.

"Allison Argent," she greets pleasantly, all the same.

"Damn," comes the voice on the other line. "I was hoping for Scott."

"Stiles?"

"The one and only," Stiles says.

Allison feels herself smiling warmly, in spite of the fact that she hasn't seen Stiles in years. None of them have. Scott gets phone calls occasionally, but Allison tends to make herself scarce.

"Scott's at work," she tells him, apologetic.

Stiles makes a contemplative noise. "Are you," he pauses, "Are you busy?"

"I was training, but it's fine," she says. Allison decided years ago to work part time, a four day week with limited hours. She needs time to herself, so she makes time for herself.

There's silence, just static on the line, until Stiles eventually asks, "When will Scott be done with work?"

"Not til 7," Allison says.

Stiles exhales. "I'm at the bus station."

"In Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah," he says. "It's not urgent or anything, but I could use a ride?"

His voice goes up at the end. He sounds uncertain.

"I'll be there in half an hour," she tells him.

"Thanks," he says, and hangs up.

She stares at the phone for a minute or two, then goes to take a shower. It doesn't seem right reuniting with Stiles in sweaty workout clothes.

-

She pulls up to the bus station, not sure what she's expecting. The cigarette is a surprise, and it's that that causes her to get out of the car. She's not letting him stink up her nice clean car. (It's an SUV. She's an Argent, or an Argent-McCall, and it runs in the family. She's not embarrassed. She's not.)

That's when she notices the second thing; the shiny silver crutch leaning against the curb Stiles is sitting on.

She doesn't comment on it, but she quirks an eyebrow, which Stiles ignores. The cigarette settles better in his hand than the few they tried as teenagers. She doesn't know what brand it is - she doesn't have any friends who smoke, but he's got this look in his face like he's daring her to say something.

"Cancer sticks," she tells him.

He shrugs. "I make my living getting shot at. Cancer doesn't seem all that dangerous."

She smiles. She's also glad he used present tense. She doesn't know why Stiles hasn't come back to Beacon Hills for all these years, but he must have had a reason. Apart from his father's funeral, when they were all twenty-five and far too young to have parents dying, he hasn't been back since he enlisted at the age of eighteen.

(It had surprised everybody. The entire pack were going to college, and Stiles was more than intelligent enough to go, he just... didn't.)

"What are you here for?" She asks, because she can't help herself. He stubs out his cigarette and pushes himself up, relying heavily on the crutch.

"Physical therapy. Recuperating. Trying not to suffocate from boredom."

"Sounds fun," she tells him.

He smirks at her. He looks miserable. "I'm sure it will be."

He tugs on the suitcase Allison hadn't noticed, and gestures to the trunk of her car.

"Do you want a hand with that?" She asks, but he shakes his head, a short, sharp, jerking gesture.

She watches him tug the case; watches him keep a carefully blank face as he heaves it up into the trunk. He slinks around the side of the car to sit in the passenger seat without saying anything, and Allison drives him home.

"You've got a place to stay?" She asks. Stiles had stayed in town just long enough after the funeral to clean up the house and find someone to sell it for him, so it's worth asking.

"I was just going to find a motel," he says, and she snorts.

She shakes her head at him. "You really don't remember what Scott's like when you're around, do you?"

He smiles, then. "So I guess you have a spare bed?" He asks.

She nods. Scott's been making noises about maybe turning it into a nursery, starting a family. At least Stiles will delay that discussion.

"It's yours for as long as you need it," She tells him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and they're at the house now.

They'd held Stiles' dad's wake here. She hopes they can maybe replace that with happier memories.

"You haven't moved, then," Stiles says, staring up at the house. Allison wonders what he sees. 

"We've lived here for four years. Since we could afford to stop renting and start paying a mortgage."

"And Scott's a vet and you run martial arts classes, and you've basically got your life sorted." Stiles tells her without looking at her, and it's a flash of the old Stiles she sees in her face. It's almost jarring. 

"What about you? Any long term career plans? Special someones?"

Stiles turns to look at her then. "Nobody special, no long term plans. I'm living in the moment."

She smiles. "That sounds dangerous."

"Well," he says sarcastically, "I did get shot."

"What happened?" She asks.

"The other guy had a gun," he says flatly, and he's deflecting, she knows he's deflecting. She decides that this time, maybe, she'll let him.

"I better call Scott and let him know you're here," she says, reaching for the door handle. "Head on in, I'll grab your bag."

He looks like he wants to refuse, but she doesn't give him a chance, slamming her door shut and getting his suitcase out the trunk. She throws her keys at him, and yeah, that catch is definitely a familiar Stilinski flail, and they head inside. 

"What are you going to do when you're not at physical therapy?" She asks, just to make conversation. This Stiles is too quiet, and requires oddly careful prodding. She wonders what Scott will make of him, or if maybe Scott's presence will make him revert back to normal.

"Who the fuck knows," he says, voice low. She winces. 

She shows him the spare bedroom, tells him there's an en suite if he wants to get travel gunk off of him, and asks him to smoke outside on the patio, and not inside the house.

He nods, but he looks listless.

She worries, and calls Scott. 

-

Scott doesn't manage to get off work early, but he comes home buzzing and excited, in spite of Allison's warnings. She'd put on dinner while she was waiting for him, and is now wondering if she should go and knock on Stiles' door, who she hasn't seen since she showed him around. As a teenager, Stiles' presence always sort of filled up a room.

It's strange how he can make a house seem emptier now.

She's made lamb, because Scott is endlessly carnivorous, and she doesn't know what Stiles likes anymore. Scott bounds upstairs to badger him, and she tells him they need to be down for dinner in ten, fully expecting them to take half an hour.

They don't. It's disconcerting. Scott seems to understand where her misgivings came from now, at least. 

They're all sitting at the kitchen table, eating lamb which isn't even that nice, on reflection. Allison wants to say something, but words seem to have left her behind a little bit.

"Do you have any idea how long it'll be before you'll be allowed to go back?" Scott asks.

Stiles grins. "Already eager to get rid of me, Scotty?"

"I-"

Stiles laughs sharply. "I'm kidding."

Scott narrows his eyes slightly.

"Are the rest of the pack still in town?" Stiles asks, apparently tiring of making things difficult. 

"Isaac's around less, he's got himself a girlfriend up in Seattle, but everyone else, yeah."

"Huh," Stiles says. "I'm gonna be honest, I'm surprised you all made it this far."

Scott shrugs. "We've pulled together a lot."

"And you're part of the pack too?" This is directed at Allison.

She nods. "My dad moved away a couple of years ago. He said Beacon Hills had too many bad memories, and it was my life to make what I wanted of it without him looking over my shoulder."

It's still a raw wound, and Stiles seems to sense that, dropping his eyes for a beat.

"It would be nice to see that pack again, catch up," he says.

Scott smiles. "Yeah, that would be cool. Derek's having a curry night next week, you should come."

Stiles nods. "Sure," he says, and the atmosphere softens and loses it's sharp edges, and conversation flows freely.

Allison keeps catching glimpses of the Stiles she knew a decade ago, but there's also this new Stiles, a completely different creature.

She doesn't know what to do with him yet.

Maybe Derek will, she thinks. 

"I'll wash up," Stiles volunteers, when they finish the meal. Scott immediately protests. 

"You're a guest," he insists.

Stiles snorts. "We're practically family, bro. We've always shared chores, remember?"

Allison suddenly has a very vivid memory of Stiles and Scott, shoulder to shoulder in Melissa's kitchen, washing and drying and talking and laughing at the age of seventeen.

"You're a guest," Scott repeats. "And besides, you've got a bum leg. What good are you to us?"

He says it like he expects Stiles to laugh it off, to joke along; Stiles does this sort of full body flinch and nods. "No, you're right," he says. He stands up, shuffles a little awkwardly.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke," he says, gestures at the back door.

Scott stares after him hopelessly. 

-

She's not sure what the noise is when she wakes up. She doesn't even know what woke her, at first, but it quickly becomes clear.

There's a strangled cry from the guest room, and she freezes. She shakes Scott's shoulder furiously - he's sleeping like a rock, he always fucking does, it's a nightmare - until he wakes up with a grumble and a flash of red eyes. She always gets them when she wakes him unexpectedly.

"What is it?" He mutters, voice sleep deep and hair mussed.

"Shh, listen," she whispers at him, and he blinks at her as they hear another cry. "I think it's Stiles," she says.

He nods and tugs the covers aside, clumsily gets out of bed. They pad barefoot down the hallway to the room, which has the door shut.

She prays it's not locked. Scott knocks gently, and there's no response so he tugs the handle and pushes it open. Allison leans against the doorway and watches Scott approach the bed.

"Stiles," Scott says, several times. On the third time, when Scott's gotten to a decent volume, Stiles wakes up. He goes from knocked out; tangled in the sheets and making soft mewling noises, to fully awake and pressed against the headboard in the blink of an eye.

"Sorry," he says, voice rough. "I woke you up, right?"

"Actually, Allison did," Scott says. 

Stiles glances at her, standing in the doorway, and grimaces. "Sorry," he says again. 

"Don't worry about it," she tells him, trying not to focus on the fact that his eyes are still a little wild. She thinks that if he still had the hair he grew out in high school, it'd be mussed. As it is, his hair is buzzed short and tears are forming in his eyes.

"You want to talk about it?" Scott asks. 

Stiles shakes his head. "I'll be fine. It's just, new places, you know?"

"Beacon Hills isn't _new_ ," Scott scoffs.

Stiles gives him a look. "Sorry buddy," he says, "it kind of is."

"We've all missed you," Scott says.

Stiles snorts. "Even Derek?" he says, because even Allison - who avoids prolonged conversations with Derek even now - knows that they weren't friends. They'd been allies, because of Scott, but Stiles had loved to wind Derek up and Derek had never really earned his trust.

"Maybe not Derek," Scott concedes, with a smirk. "But everyone else."

Stiles shuts his eyes. "Well, I'll see everyone next week," he says.

"Maybe sooner, if you wanted?" Scott asks.

Allison doubts that can be organised - everyone in the pack is ridiculously busy, with their own jobs and lives and careers, and they really only meet up twice a month, all of them. 

Stiles shrugs. "Maybe."

He pauses, looks between Scott and Allison. "I really am sorry about waking you guys up."

"It's fine," they both say at the same time, and Scott turns to grin dopily at her. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"You two literally haven't changed at all."

"You have," Allison finds herself saying. 

Stiles blinks at her. "I've seen a lot of dead people. My dad included."

"Sorry," Allison says. "I just-"

Stiles shrugs. "I went away and grew up."

"But not old," Scott says, trying to lighten the mood. "You promised you'd never grow old."

"Well I have got a bum leg," Stiles says. He sighs. "Look, it's nice of you guys to care, but I don't want to talk about it."

"You know you always can," Scott says. 

Stiles swallows visibly. Allison can see his Adam's apple bob from across the poorly lit room. "It's just bad dreams, Scott."

Allison suddenly feels she's intruding on a private moment by the way Scott's looking at Stiles, so she retreats back to her bedroom.

She hears the door slam fifteen minutes later, then feels the bed dip.

"He's going for a walk," Scott says. "Can't sleep after nightmares, he said."

"Sure," Allison says, and settles into his arms. 

"Do you think he'll be okay?" She asks, after a pause.

Scott presses his face into her neck. "Stiles is tough, he always has been."

"I've never seen him like that, though."

Scott sighs. "Everything will look better in the morning," he says, and she smiles.

It's a refrain she's well used to by now. 

-

It does not look better in the morning. Stiles' eyes have dark circles, and every time one of them opens their mouth he looks a little hunted, like they're going to ask difficult questions. 

Scott makes breakfast, but Stiles doesn't eat, just sips at a black coffee while Scott and Allison go through their morning routine. They're both working relatively full days today, Scott home at 5 and Allison at 8, so she doesn't really know what to do with Stiles.

"Are you going to do anything today?" Allison asks.

Stiles shrugs. "I've got an appointment with a physical therapist at 2, but I don't know, otherwise."

Scott and Allison glance at each other. "You've got money, right?" Scott says.

Stiles smirks. "You guys are going to make great parents, someday," he tells them, and Allison tries to hide her flinch.

Scott misses it. Stiles throws her a quizzical look, but doesn't comment. 

"Just take the spare key," Allison says, rolling her eyes and trying to make a recovery. "Then you can get in and out when you need, okay?"

"Sure," Stiles nods. "If I was going to make myself lunch....?" 

Scott grins. "Basically all the food is fair game. I was planning on going grocery shopping later, anyways."

"Sweet, thanks," Stiles says. "I'll see you later, then."

"Before I forget," Allison says, "We'd invited some people around tomorrow night, Danny, Isaac and some work friends. Is that okay?"

Stiles puts his hands up. "Don't change your plans for me, I'll be fine."

"Okay," Allison says.

She can't put her finger on it, but there's something about the new Stiles that she finds she actually quite likes. 

She worries about him all day at work, though. They have a decent internet connection, but Stiles hadn't asked for their wifi password - hell, for all she knows, Stiles doesn't even have a laptop with him. He's probably bored out of his mind at their house, and it doesn't exactly make her a good host.

Not that being a good host has ever really been her concern, though. Over the years, Scott has learned that it's better when he runs most of the show - as evidenced by the meal last night, Allison is a fucking terrible cook - and serves most of the snacks. Allison can deal with people - she is great at small talk, and had plenty of lessons from Lydia on giving the right impression - but making lasting connections is really more of Scott's thing. 

She's mostly grateful that lasting connections aren't really required in her line of work. Today, she's teaching a group of 8 year olds judo at an elementary school, followed by all of her paperwork (she schedules a four hour block to get it all done on Thursdays - she discovered early on leaving paperwork to the very end of the week led to taking work home at the weekend) and then two afternoon classes. She loves her job, adores it, but right now she's wants to be at home, making sure Stiles is not regretting coming to Beacon Hills. 

When she gets home in the evening, Stiles and Scott are playing video games, and dinner is in the oven.

She feels ridiculous for even worrying. Stiles is fine.

Dinner passes easily - she and Scott talk about their days, Scott with a funny anecdote about a sick dog and Allison with a story about a 14 year old who got an 18 year old with years of training to tap out in her last class of the day. Stiles doesn't talk about his physical therapy, but does mention that they need a more secure wi-fi password. He's moving more stiffly than usual, and if Allison sees concern wrinkling the corners of Scott's eyes, neither of them say anything.

"Why d'you come back to Beacon Hills?" Scott asks, after the dishes have been cleared away.

Stiles shrugs. "Needed to do physical therapy somewhere."

"Allison said you were planning on staying in a motel," Scott prods.

Stiles shuts his eyes. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go," he says. 

"Oh," Scott says. He sounds oddly surprised by that.

Stiles smiles weakly, opening his eyes. "I spent my other leaves all over the place, if you were wondering. Some in New York, seeing the sights. Most in beach towns on the east coast, with the other guys without families."

"You had your dad for a few years," Allison points out.

Stiles nods. "I came back once, when I was twenty. Bet neither of you knew that."

They shake their heads, surprised.

"Dad was angry, y'know? He sent me letters while I was away, and he always sounded so miserable, so I thought I'd surprise him. I don't think he knew how to deal with me."

"That sucks," Scott says, like he doesn't know what else to say.

Stiles nods. "I saw it coming, you know, five years down the line. I knew he was going to die without me coming back home again."

"You could have fixed it," Allison finds herself saying. She's been there, she knows what it feels like to have a parent feel like the world would be better without them in it. And Stiles saw it coming and he just didn't try.

Stiles looks at her, his eyes dark. "I probably could have, yeah," he says. 

They stare at each other for a beat too long, Allison fighting back tears, before Scott clears his throat. 

"It wasn't your fault," Scott says quietly. Allison doesn't know if he's talking to her or Stiles, her vision suddenly so blurry that all she can do is stare at the woodgrain of the table.

"Doesn't matter," Stiles says, voice low. "I should've tried."

"Then why didn't you?" Allison says, standing up suddenly, her chair falling flat behind her. 

Stiles looks up at her. "Lydia Martin, and the military, are the only things I've ever thought I loved."

"And your dad. For years, you put your dad first," Allison yells. "When did that stop?"

"When he wanted me to put myself first," Stiles says, in a rush of air. He pushes his chair back. 

"Goodnight," he says, even though it's only nine o'clock.

When the door to the guest room creaks shut, Scott rounds on her.

"What did you do that for?" He says, not shouting but certainly aggressive.

"I wanted to know," Allison says. "He's in our lives, and I wanted to know why, after all these years."

"He's my best friend, practically your brother in law, and you just interrogate him like that?"

Allison breathes out roughly. "Is he, though? Can he still be your best friend when this is the second time you've seen him in the last decade?"

"He's my best friend," Scott repeats, but he sounds less sure about it now. "He doesn't deserve to feel like that."

"Nor do I," Allison tells him. "My mother killed herself too."

"I know," he says, rubbing her back. "I know." 

-

Friday evening is actually a relatively small gathering. They've got the barbecue going, and some wine out and about, and Stiles is smoking in the garden when the first of Scott's colleagues arrive. Allison knows all of them pretty well - they've been working with Scott for years, and aside from some off months, she's been with Scott that whole time, too. 

The first to arrive is Angie, clutching a bottle of wine and wearing bright red lipstick. She's very chatty and Allison hopes she'll bring Stiles out of his shell at least a little. Scott's manning the barbecue and she's greeting people, making small talk, and she doesn't know what Stiles is doing. He seems to be doing a fine job of staring blankly into space.

Allison worries as their garden fills up, but eventually Stiles starts to engage. He recognizes the relentless attempts of Angie trying to goad him into conversation, and they start talking. Allison wanders through the party, stops to feed Scott some steak.

"You doing okay?" She asks Stiles, when Angie's left to irritate someone else. 

Stiles nods up at her, beer in hand. "It's nice, this," he says, gesturing vaguely around. Allison suppresses a smile - she thinks he might have had a little too much to drink. 

"Am I forgiven for last night?" She asks, because she can't help herself.

Stiles look contemplative. "It was a shitty thing to do," he says, "but I get the place it came from."

"Dead parents," Allison says.

"Dead parents," Stiles says, and bumps his can against hers. She snorts. 

She sits next to him, stares out at the people in their garden. "You talked to Danny or Isaac yet?"

"Angie had all of my attention," he says. 

Allison nods. "She kind of does that, doesn't she?"

Stiles smirks. "I didn't mind it, don't worry. You haven't mortally offended me."

"What was she talking to you about, anyway?"

Stiles looks at her. His eyelashes look ridiculously long from this close. "She's got a brother in the military," he says quietly.

"Oh." Allison didn't know that. She's a little surprised, Angie's not just a talker, she's an oversharer. Allison knows more about Angie's monthly cycle than she does about her own.

"She asked what to do when he's back on leave, and I told her not to ask too many difficult questions," Stiles says, and it doesn't quite feel barbed, but the comment still hits her in the ribs a little.

"Sorry," she says.

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, you had just the right amount." He pauses, tugs at her hand. "Will Scott mind terribly if I ask you to dance with me?"

Allison blinks at him. "I'm sure he wouldn't," she says, with what she hopes is a warm smile. 

He takes her hand and leads her slowly to the patch of grass where a few other people are dancing. It's a relatively slow song, so he wraps his arms around her, using her as his crutch for the most part. "I wouldn't have asked," he says, "except I'm trying to make Angie jealous."

Allison laughs. "I'm afraid she knows I'm happily married," she tells him.

Stiles' brown eyes are shining in the outdoor lighting when he looks into hers. "To my best friend," he says softly, and she hasn't figured out what to make of that before Scott cuts in.

She watches, over Scott's shoulder, as Stiles reintroduces himself to Danny and Isaac, watches his shoulders shift from stiff to a little more relaxed. Isaac and Danny look happy, if a little confused, to see him. Something warm is threatening to burst in her chest at the sight of them together. 

She's just glad he's back, really. Scott's happier when he's here, that's all it is. 

Later, when there's more wine and beer flowing, she sees Stiles with an arm around Angie, leaning against a wall. They're talking in low voices, faces close together. She nudges Scott, and points. "Listen in?" She asks, because he's long got used to her habit for eavesdropping. It used to be a Stiles thing, getting Scott to listen to other peoples conversations, but she learned eavesdropping from him and a taste for gossip from Lydia.

Scott's bright red blush tells her all she needs to know. "Are we having another guest for breakfast tomorrow?" She says into his ear. 

"I think," Scott says, a little choked off. "I think he's going back to hers. Doesn't want to make it awkward for us, y'know?"

"That seems... fair," Allison says. Especially since, Allison thinks with more than a little glee, Scott's going to have to face Angie Monday morning at work. Scott's pretty vanilla in the bedroom, and he never asks about anybody else's sex life. 

Allison watches Angie help Stiles up and hand him his crutch, and wave the two of them goodbye before departing. 

It'll be good for Stiles, she thinks, to have someone, if only for a night. It's like a home comfort, maybe. 

She tells herself she's not worried he's diving into something - even if it's probably completely casual - after only two days back in Beacon Hills. Stiles is an adult, all of 28 years old. He can handle it.

It's been a good evening, and even Stiles got something out of it. To think she'd been worried he'd be overwhelmed.

-

Monday, all Allison has is a morning class, so when Stiles gets home from his physical therapy at noon, she takes him grocery shopping.

"Scott gave me a list," she explains, as they climb into her car. He's moving stiffly, and she wonders about suggesting to Scott that he take Stiles' pain. 

Stiles blinks at her. "You can't come up with one yourself?"

"I'm a terrible cook," she says. "You didn't notice on Wednesday?"

Stiles grins at her. "I've had worse," he tells her. 

"You probably have," she says, and then they lapse into silence as she drives. It's not really an uncomfortable silence, though it should be, she thinks, given that they haven't seen each other in years. 

Shopping goes relatively smoothly. They make idle chat, and Allison catches flashes of the Stiles she knew as a teenager, full of (basically useless) facts and willing to talk for hours on any specific subject. 

"I'll pay," Stiles says, when they reach the checkout. 

Allison shakes her head. "You're a guest, Stiles," she says.

Stiles shrugs. "You wouldn't have had to buy half this stuff if it weren't for me," he says. "Besides, I'll be here for months. You have to let me contribute something."

Allison doesn't say: we've got money, and we want you here, and Scott would never let you pay for him. 

She steps aside. "We'll split it, fifty-fifty, okay?" Her hand brushes his shoulder. She means it to be a longer touch, but the way Stiles stiffens makes her continue the motion. 

His eyes narrow, but he smiles. "Sure."

It feels like she's passed some kind of test, though she doesn't know why Stiles thinks he has a place testing her anyway.

"When is this curry night, then?" Stiles asks, as they pack their bags. 

"Tomorrow," Allison says. "At Derek's apartment."

Stiles frowns. "He doesn't still live in that place with a hole in the wall, does he?"

Allison snorts. "No, he doesn't, don't worry."

"Who is in this pack now, anyway?"

Allison bites her lip as they walk to the car. "It's not really one pack, it's sort of three merged together. Scott's my alpha, Derek is Isaac and Cora's, Ethan is Danny's. They'll all be there."

"Ethan?" Stiles says, sounding a little choked.

Allison nods. "He came back to Beacon Hills about a year ago. Apparently him and Danny had been emailing, had decided to get back together."

"You trust him?"

Allison looks at Stiles. "He was the nice one, remember?"

"I remember him being there when Boyd died," Stiles says.

"That was more than a decade ago," she reminds him, "people grow up." Growing up hadn't been easy, but it had happened, even if Stiles wasn't there to see it. 

Stiles sighs. "Which pack do I fit into?" He says, but it sounds kind of dejected, like he already knows the answer.

"Scott'll claim you as his," she says, "but you're only temporary anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

Stiles nods. "It's going to be awkward, isn't it?"

"You got on with Danny and Isaac fine on Friday, didn't you?" She says.

Stiles frowns. "They didn't tell me anything - I didn't even know that Danny and Ethan were back together, and apparently it's been a year."

Allison shrugs. "It was a party, they probably didn't want to make things complicated."

She pauses.

"Besides, I think they noticed you were pretty distracted by Angie," she says with a smirk.

Stiles blinks at her, a blush threatening to bloom on his cheeks. "I'm amazed it took you this long to comment," he says.

"Good night, then?" She asks, teasingly. 

"Very good," Stiles tells her bluntly. "How do you think Scott's coping with that?"

Allison shrugs. "Probably depends on whether or not you want to see her again."

Stiles shakes his head. "I'll pass on that," he says. "I think she probably will as well."

Allison frowns at him. "What makes you say that?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow at her. "It's just signals you get from a person. How much do you know about casual sex?" He asks, leering.

Allison snorts. "Clearly not as much as you. _Down,_ boy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not the one you should be making dog jokes at," he tells her, and she laughs. 

The unpack the groceries into the trunk of the car.

"Anywhere else you want to go before we head home?" She asks. She's got a class again at 6 this evening, but that's hours away, and she can spare some time for Stiles.

Stiles goes quiet for a moment. "Could we maybe visit the graveyard? It's not really walking distance from your house," he says.

"'Course," Allison tells him, and she takes him there. 

The gates to the graveyard are foreboding, but she visited her mothers grave here a few weeks ago, so it's not like this is new. She knows Stiles' parents are buried a few rows down from her mother, because Scott visits them on the Sheriff's birthday and leaves flowers. She gives him a little peace and goes to say hi to her mother, and hopes he's okay. 

It is, after all, the first time he's been here in years. 

Maybe, she considers, we should get him a car. 

It's foolish, because he'd never accept a gift on that scale from them, but Isaac's a mechanic and could probably fix up Allison's old car from her teenage years for Stiles. She doesn't know how it would work with his leg, but it's worth a try.

Stiles has always been pretty independent, and she doesn't like the idea that she's taking that from him now. 

-

Stiles is tense on the drive to the Derek's place. He lives in the middle of town, so it's not really a long drive, but he's quiet and still and it's unnerving. 

Even in his new oddly controlled state, he'd never quite been still in this way. 

They park around the block, and climb out, walking slowly. Stiles hasn't been in this part of town in more than a decade, though Allison can't tell that from looking at him.

He seems simultaneously at ease and on edge, and Allison can't help but wonder why. Is he really so worried about seeing the rest of the pack again?

They take the lift up to Derek's penthouse apartment (Stiles rolls his eyes when he sees Scott press the button for the very top floor), and the door's already open by the time they get there. It's another one of Derek's little shows of power, still absurd after all these years. 

They're greeted warmly, from most, with a - "Finally, I'm starving," from Cora, who still acts the petulant teenager whenever she thinks she can get away with it. Stiles nods at Isaac and Danny, but doesn't say much, and Allison worries. Again.

"Who's getting the curry, then?" Stiles asks eventually, a teasing grin on his face. 

Derek raises his eyebrows. "You can," he tells Stiles. Allison bits her lip. 

"I don't drive," Stiles grins.

"It's walking distance," Cora says, at her brothers side. 

Stiles stops smiling. "Not for me," he says.

"Still lazy, then?" Derek asks.

Scott growls warningly. "Derek," he says. "Leave it."

"Stiles is new, there's an initiation ritual."

Ethan snorts. "Ignore him," he tells Stiles. "I didn't have to suffer through an initiation ritual."

"How many lazy soldiers have you met?" 

Derek rolls his eyes. "I didn't realize the military could turn little shits like you into upstanding men." 

"It's good to know that you haven't changed, Derek," Stiles says, a small smile on his face. Allison realizes that this is sort of a welcome home ritual for Stiles and Derek, being relentlessly mean to each other.

"You're going to get the curry," Derek says firmly, but he's smiling too.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if he's psyching himself up. "Unless it can be carried in one hand, no, I can't." 

"What's wrong with your other hand?"

Stiles raises his crutch. "Can't walk without this, Der."

Derek's eyes widen, and he looks as if he's worried he's offended Stiles. Stiles shakes his head, something wordless passes between them, and Allison finds himself wondering how much time they spent together last time Stiles was home.

She remembers them driving each other nuts in high school. She considers that maybe she just didn't noticed when that switched to friendly barbs, but she's sure Stiles never trusted Derek the way he trusted Scott, Allison or Lydia. 

"What do you want to eat, anyway?" Derek asks.

Stiles blinks. "Chicken tikka masala," he says, and Derek knows everyone else's order, so the order is placed and Isaac and Cora sent to collect it (with a little grumbling. Derek still treats them like children sometimes).

It's quiet, while they're waiting for it. Stiles sidles over to Danny. "You could've mentioned you and Ethan were back together on Friday," he says.

Danny smirks. "You were distracted," he tells Stiles.

Scott makes a disgusted noise. "She wanted to talk about you at work, Stiles. I hope you realize that." 

"Why would she want to talk about me?" Stiles asks.

Allison snorts. She wonders if Scott's going to say what he'd told her last night, complaining about Angie's existence (and habit of oversharing).

When he doesn't, she speaks up on his behalf. "She said you're a great lay," she says, and Stiles - he doesn't quite go pink, but his shoulders seem to tense a little, as if to shield him from this. 

Ethan whistles. "Congrats, Stilinski," and Stiles shoots him a look. 

"Well, it's not going to happen again, so..." Stiles trails off, glances at Scott.

"Why not?" Scott presses.

Stiles shrugs. "I don't really do relationships."

"That sounds dysfunctional," Derek comments, which would've been ironic ten years ago. 

Stiles smirks. "I've never slept with the same woman twice, dude," he says, drawing himself up to his full height, or as much as he can while sitting at Derek's dining table. 

"Seriously?" Scott asks. 

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. "Seriously. I know you're a one woman kind of guy, but I'm not. Not yet, anyway."

Derek snorts. "You're nearly thirty, you're not young forever."

"Please, how much have I really changed since you last saw me?" 

"You've got a limp, for one," Derek says. He means it to be a joke, but from the expression on Stiles' face it's definitely fallen flat.

"How was your PT?" Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. "There's a chance I might never go back on active duty," he says, and it's hard to read how he feels about that from his tone, but Scott's face crumples a little and he pats Stiles on the shoulder. 

"Sorry man," Scott says.

"It'll be fine," Stiles says, self assured as ever. "I'll figure something out."

Derek's frowning, like there's something he can't quite figure out, and then Isaac and Cora come back and Stiles lapses into silence. 

He's uncomfortable here, Allison notices, he's been honest and it's bothered him.

Everybody digs into their meal, Allison included. It's quiet for a beat or two, while everyone unpacks their dishes and pours them onto plates. Poppadoms are passed around, along with the naan bread, and Allison waits for the inevitable bickering match over the last naan.

It doesn't come, oddly enough. Stiles takes it, and Scott and Derek eye him but both decide to leave him in peace. Apparently they've decided he needs the food for healing, Allison thinks, which is a little bit hilarious.

"You got shot, then," Cora says bluntly, and Allison flinches on Stiles' behalf.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "I've been shot at a bunch of times, this is the first one that's actually done any damage."

"The others all missed then," Isaac says, with a smirk.

"Looks that way," Stiles tells him.

Danny rolls his eyes, and Stiles smirks back. Allison wonders why Stiles reappearing makes them all regress to teenagedom. She thinks maybe it's like that thing she's heard about where when people go home for Christmas, they treat their siblings just like they did when they were kids. Even when they're forty something. 

"We're going to Jungle on Friday," Danny says, "you wanna come, Stiles?" 

"I'm not big on clubbing," Stiles says. "I'm much more of a bar kind of guy."

"It'll be fun," Ethan says, wheedling.

Stiles shrugs. "I can't dance."

"You danced last week," Danny reminds him.

Stiles snorts. "I don't know if you noticed but that was much slower and I was leaning pretty heavily on Allison. It's not gonna happen, guys."

"You'll come out with us eventually, right?"

"I'm really not a clubbing kind of guy," Stiles insists, and Allison wonders when that happened because she always pictured Stiles in a club, constantly on the move. It just seemed like his kind of place, the way he was always full of energy and all.

Ethan shrugs. "If you're sure."

Everyone's finished eating by now, so Stiles rolls his shoulders and stands up. "I'm gonna explore your apartment a bit, if that's cool?" He says.

Derek nods his assent, and Scott half rises as if to assist Stiles, but Stiles shuts him down with a quiet but firm, "I'm fine, dude."

He leaves towards the living room, and Allison wonders how long it'll take for him to spot the state of the art entertainment system, with all of the latest game consoles. Derek had money to spend, and he knew what his pack wanted. There's four bedrooms here - Derek's, Cora's, and two spares, because Isaac emphatically wanted his own space, and Derek wanted to keep the option open for anyone to stay over at any time. 

"Is he okay?" Cora asks. "He seems kind of..."

"Different," Allison says. "He's been in and out of warzones for the last ten years, I think that would change someone, right?"

Cora nods uncertainly. 

"He'll probably just end up playing video games," Scott says, and then a minute later all of the werewolves at the table smirk.

"He just turned on the console," Scott informs Allison.

Derek gets up to turn on the coffee maker, and Danny goes to join Stiles with whatever game he's playing. They all sit in a comfortable silence, Scott's hand rubbing gentle circles on Allison's thigh, before Scott sits up sharply.

"Something's wrong," he says. Everyone else looks just as concerned. 

As a cohesive group, they move towards the living room. Stiles looks, outwardly, completely fine. The line of his shoulders is straighter than usual, but Danny's kicking his ass at this game.

"You okay, Stiles?" Scott says, and Stiles looks up.

"Shit," he says. "It's been so long since I've been surrounded by werewolves I forgot you could all hear my heartbeat."

"Smell panic, too," Isaac says helpfully. Danny pauses the game. 

"You should've said you didn't want to play that game," he says.

Stiles shrugs. "Didn't know it'd bother me."

Danny pats him awkwardly on the shoulder, and stands, offering a hand to Stiles.

"I might get going," Stiles says quietly. "It's been good to see everyone," he offers, but Allison can tell it's not sincere.

"Sure, we'll head out too," Allison says quickly, trying to cover her unease.

Stiles shakes his head. "I'd rather walk. Fresh air seems like a good idea."

Allison frowns, and sees Scott do the same. They all follow him to the door, and he smiles awkwardly at them before limping down the corridor. When the door shuts behind him, Allison presses her forehead to it.

"How do we help him?" Scott asks.

Allison doesn't have a fucking clue. 

-  
When they get home, it's late - gone 11. The pack evening had admittedly gone much more smoothly after Stiles left, though nobody really wants to admit that. They shut the door quietly, creep up the stairs. 

"Go see if he's in there," Allison says, because somebody has to. She gets ready for bed in his absence, distantly hears talking in low voices down the hall. 

Scott pads down the hallway back to her, and she waits for him already under the covers. "Everything okay?" She asks.

He nods. "He seems kind of... burnt out, I guess. He'll be fine in the morning, I'm sure."

Allison wonders when Scott's going to stop lying to himself. 

She watches him tug at his jeans, pull his shirt over her head, and smiles, knowing what it looks like to Scott.

He does this thing, sometimes, which he thinks is sexy but it's really, overwhelmingly not. It just makes Allison laugh. He prowls towards the bed, and Allison tries to contain her grin. 

He leans down to kiss her, slow and deep.

He pauses.

"Isn't it weird doing this, with Stiles just down the hall?"

Allison stares at him. "You don't want to have sex for however many months he stays here? He's an adult, Scott, he can handle it."

Scott blinks. "You're right, you're totally right." He goes to kiss her again, but she wrinkles her nose.

"Mood effectively killed," she tells him, and he frowns. 

He bites his lip. "Sorry, Al," he says, and slumps, tugging the covers over him.

She smiles weakly at him.

"One day," he says, and she can tell it's going to be one of those conversations where he paints this picture of the future for her. "One day, we'll have kids that we'll have to check on before we go to bed, and we'll have to worry about hearing us make love." 

"Don't you think we live dangerous lifestyles, Scott?"

Scott frowns at her. In the dim light his face looks soft and slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know anything about raising a werewolf?" She asks, because she can't help but point it out. "What if we end up in a territory dispute when our kid needs watching all of the time, or what if we have a rebellious teenager who accidentally picks a fight with the wrong supernatural crowd?"

"We'd figure it out," he tells her softly. "We wouldn't have survived all these years if we hadn't mastered that."

"What if it's just luck," she says, twisting so her face is even closer to his, so he understands what she's trying to say. "What if we've only made it so far because of luck, and what happens if that runs out, with a kid in tow?"

Scott smiles. "We've got a pack, a strong pack with three alphas. We'd figure it out. Always, Al," he says, and he sounds so sure of himself.

Allison can't let herself forget that her family was very nearly destroyed by lives like theirs. 

"I'd be a terrible mother anyway," she tells him.

Scott rolls his eyes. "You work with kids," he says.

She turns to stare up at the ceiling. "I work with kids to get rid of excess energy, and to train them in self defense. It's not exactly a nurturing role."

Scott goes quiet for a minute.

"Do you not want kids?" He asks, eventually. 

Allison chews her lip. 

"I just-" she pauses. "I just need to get my head around a few things first, okay?"

"Soon, then," Scott says. "We'll work through it together, and then we'll think about having a child. Soon."

"Soon," she promises, and thanks every deity she can think of that her father taught her how to lie to werewolves.

She can feel Scott's eyes on her, all the same. 

"We'll talk about it tomorrow?" He asks. 

"Sure," she tells him, and her voice only cracks a little bit. She tells herself it's because she's tired. He flicks out the light with a quiet, "Night, Al," and is asleep in minutes.

Allison lies awake for a long time after that.

It used to be, when she couldn't sleep, she'd go to the guest room and toss and turn to her hearts content. She needs to twist and turn, throw the pillow and sometimes the duvet off the bed completely; she needs to stretch out, feel the pressure of the headboard against her palms.

But Stiles is in the guest room now, and she doesn't want to wake Scott, so she lies there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and counting the tick tock of the clock. She's not resentful of Scott's optimism - it's one of the first things she found attractive about him, she likes that he's so convinced everything will turn out fine. It grounds her a little, because she's a pessimist, and always has been.

But she can't help but feel that she's right in this. All but one member of her extended family have been killed due to werewolf drama. Sure, some of that was brought on by themselves, but she can't help but feel that that's something she's risking.

If somebody were to take Scott away from her, Allison doesn't really know what she'd do. She's had him by her side for years, living and taking every blow that comes. To add a child into that mix is asking for trouble.

It's not that Allison's even a stranger to asking for trouble, but a child is so innocent anyway. She can't bear to ruin that.

The other thing, the thing she's really trying not to think about, is how would my mother feel about a werewolf grandchild?

It feels disrespectful to even consider having a child with Scott, because her mom was everything to her once, and some days her absence still leaves Allison gasping for air.

She can't bring a child into that.

It's just not an option.

She doesn't know how she'll tell Scott that, though. 

-

Dinner the following evening is awkward. Allison and Scott haven't had a chance to have a proper conversation, and it feels like it's hanging over them a little as they pick at their food.

Stiles drums his fingers on the table, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

"Do you want kids?" Scott asks him, and Allison blinks. He really was just going to bring it out in the open like that, apparently.

Stiles snorts. "Can you picture me as a father figure?"

"You wanted kids in high school, right?" Scott says.

Stiles rolls his eyes, smirking. "We were in high school."

Scott shrugs. "What changed?"

"I'm not really a long term guy," Stiles says, glancing at Allison. "Besides, work is more important."

"So you'd never want kids?" Scott asks, like he can't wrap his mind around the topic.

Stiles shrugs, mirroring Scott's motion from earlier. Allison wonders if he's noticed he's doing it. "I've never been married or permanent with anyone, Scott. I only came close once. Maybe if I met the right woman, but even then, I doubt it."

"So you have had a serious relationship then?" Allison says.

Stiles blinks at her. "Yeah?" He says. It's a question.

"You said you'd never slept with the same woman twice, at Derek's," Allison points out. 

"Oh," Stiles says, shakes himself. "True, except for one." 

Scott blinks. "You lied, and nobody noticed?"

Stiles makes an assenting noise, but won't look him in the eye.

"In a room full of werewolves, you lied?"

Allison tries to stifle her smirk, but Scott's indignation has always been a little amusing to her. 

"I figured out how to in high school," Stiles says, sounding amused. "You really didn't know?"

"No, I didn't," Scott says, and he almost sounds like he's going to slip into a sulk. 

"So," Allison says, deciding to change tack. "What happened with the serious relationship?"

Stiles shrugs. "It may come as a surprise to you, but relationships often don't work out."

Allison laughs. "No, we're aware, don't worry." They've all lived through enough of Isaac's relationship dramas over the years, anyway.

"So you're not a one woman kind of guy," Scott says.

Stiles thinks about it. "It's just not a priority. I don't need a relationship." 

"Sounds like you're married to your job," Scott says. 

Stiles grins. "Well it's worked out fine so far."

Allison can't help but feel like she needs to prod. She wants to know, even if she can't put her finger on why. "What happened with the girl?"

"What girl?" Stiles says, apparently sufficiently distracted.

"The girl who made you change your mind about relationships, that one time."

"Oh." Stiles says. "She was called Marina," he tells them, and his eyes get a little bit of a faraway look. "We got together after my dad died because I was in a pretty bad place."

"That doesn't sound... healthy," Scott says, sounding oddly tentative.

Stiles grins. "It wasn't. We lasted two years, broke up last autumn. She wasn't really made to be an army girlfriend, y'know?"

"Fair," Scott says. "You think about marrying her?"

"Bought a ring," Stiles tells him. "I've probably still got it, somewhere."

"You didn't mention this in any of our phone calls," Scott says, sounding accusing.

Allison wants to hit him. This is so, clearly, not the time for that. 

Stiles smiles. "Marina was- I wanted to keep her all to myself. You would've been invited to the wedding," he says. 

"You would've had it in Beacon Hills," Scott counters, and Stiles shifts, one shoulder going up.

"I don't really want to talk about my hypothetical wedding," Stiles says, grimacing slightly, and Allison can relate. She doesn't want to talk about her hypothetical children, either, so they need to change the subject. 

"You didn't come to our wedding," Allison says quietly. 

Stiles sighs. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry." He doesn't seem to have any more to say, which Allison appreciates. He's not trying to excuse his behavior.

"You'll be around when we have kids, right?" Scott says brightly.

"Scott," Allison says sharply. "Don't."

"What?" Scott asks, eyes going wide and a little bit pleading.

Allison rolls her eyes. 

"You said we'd talk about it," Scott reminds her. 

Allison looks at her plate. "You said that, Scott. That was you."

Stiles drops his cutlery, in spite of the fact that his meal is only half eaten. "I'm gonna head to Derek's," he says, rising abruptly for the table. 

"Can you drive?" Allison asks. 

Stiles blinks at her. "Automatic or stick?" He asks.

"Automatic," she says, and throws her keys at him. He catches them, one handed, and heads out the door. 

Allison stares after him. She's sure Scott's looking at her, but she doesn't want to face him just yet. 

"Do you... never want to have kids?" Scott asks, and she turns in her seat to look at him.

She smiles but she's pretty sure Scott can see right through it. "It's not that I don't want to have a child with you, Scott. It's-" she pauses. She doesn't know how to word this.

"I don't know if I want to bring a child into our world," she says eventually. Scott's waited for her, patiently, but now his brow is furrowed and he's looking at her intently.

"I don't understand."

"Our world includes werewolves," she says, as gently as she can because she doesn't know how else to have this conversation. "I don't know that a child could- could deal with that."

"People have been born into werewolf families before," Scott says, taking her hand, running his thumb over her fingers. "We won't be the first, or the last."

"Do we know anyone who's dealt with a werewolf family?"

"Derek," Scott says. 

Allison snorts, and tugs her hand away from his. Her hands feel cold in her lap, but she needs her space right now to talk this out. "Look how well that turned out for him," she says quietly. She thinks about yelling it, screaming it until maybe Scott gets it into his head that werewolf families are dangerous. 

"But he's still alive. He made it through," Scott tells her. His brow has unwrinkled but he's leaning forward, so Allison leans back.

"Look at his family. Look at Isaac's family, at Ethan's." She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment. "Think of Erica, and Boyd." It's a low blow, but it's also the truest thing she knows. People have died because of lives like theirs. 

"Erica and Boyd died twelve years ago. When was the last time we had a problem like that? We live safe lifestyles now, there's no alpha back to fight with, or rogue werewolves, or anything like that."

"Scott," Allison says. She can hear the choked way her voice comes out. "Scott. It was only last year that I ended up in hospital. I nearly died, because of werewolves."

"I..."

"Did you forget?" Allison says, voice sounding oddly detached. She's worked herself into a state, she knows. "Did you forget that a werewolf nearly killed me last year?"

"Allison," Scott says quietly. "Don't do this."

Allison breathes in through her mouth, out through her nose. She stands, and Scott follows. 

"I need some space," she says. 

"Please," Scott says quietly, taking two steps back. 

Allison doesn't know what he's asking her, can't make sense of the request. 

"We're still paying off the fucking medical bills, Scott!" She shouts. "How could you forget? How could you not even remember that?"

"I didn't forget," Scott says, loudly. "I knew. I promise you, I'm more than aware."

"Then why are you pretending our lives our safe? That our child would be safe?" Allison demands. 

"Our child would be protected," Scott says, and it sounds like a promise. It rings out in the kitchen, and Allison doesn't have a clue what to say.

"Like I was protected?" She asks eventually. 

"I'm sorry," Scott says. "I'm sorry for not protecting you. I'm not sorry for wanting us to have a family."

"We could be a family of two," Allison says weakly.

Scott shuffles closer, wraps his arms around her. Allison rests her forehead on his shoulder. 

"I love you," Scott says quietly.

"Will you still love me if I never change my mind?"

Scott stills for a moment, and Allison doesn't dare lift her head from the warm of his sweater. "I don't know," he says.

"Marriage is meant to be for life," Allison says. She means it as a joke, muffled as it is into his chest.

"I know," he says, arms tightening around her. She feels so safe in his embrace.

She feels like she might shatter. It's an uncomfortable contradiction. 

"What would make you feel safer?" He says, and she twists her head to look at him.

"Consistent safety?" She says. "I can look after myself, I know I can. But even then, it doesn't always work out. I can't look after myself and a child, and nor can you."

"So we'll wait, maybe. Revisit this conversation at a later date."

Allison shakes her head. "I think we'll keep having this argument again and again."

Allison feels the warm press of his lips on her forehead. "I'll make Beacon Hills safe for you," he says. "I promise."

And that's the root of it, isn't it? Allison doesn't feel safe here, not after last year, and she doesn't have many good family memories here, between her mother, Kate, and Gerard. 

She's just got Scott. 

She suddenly, viscerally, misses her father. He didn't leave the state, wanting to stay close enough in case there was an emergency, but he's far enough away to be detached. Far enough away that she hasn't seen him since Christmas.

"I might go and stay with my dad for a bit," she says into the juncture between Scott's neck and his shoulder.

She feels Scott's shoulders tense under her cheek. "For how long?" He asks.

"Probably just a week," Allison says. "I'm not trying to get away from you. I just miss him."

"I could come too?" Scott says tentatively.

"I don't really think we should leave Stiles here by himself," Allison says, hating herself for saying it. It's true - Stiles isn't in a place where she wants to leave him alone, between the PT and the fact that he's back in Beacon Hills after years away - but she also wants some time to be herself, without worrying about Scott. 

"Yeah," Scott says, sounding as if he might have forgotten about Stiles all together. "You're probably right."

"Probably," Allison says with a smile she knows he can't see. 

"Do you think he'll come back this evening or stay the night at Derek's?" Scott asks.

"I don't think he actually went to Derek's," Allison says. "He works on Wednesday evenings. Stiles just wanted to give us some space."

"Oh," Scott says quietly. "Where do you think he went, then?"

"I don't know," Allison says. She feels like she might laugh, if she's not careful. She takes a step back from Scott, starts picking up the plates and piling them in the sink to deal with later.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Allison asks, when her back is turned to Scott. 

"It's Stiles," Scott says. "It's impossible to tell whether he is or not."

"What did you think of the story about Marina?"

Scott smiles when Allison turns to face him, back against the counter.

"She must have been something special if he bought a ring," Scott says. 

"Yeah," Allison says quietly, and she can't help but wonder what she was like.

-

Allison doesn't hear Stiles come in before she goes to sleep, but her car is there in the morning. Stiles hands the keys back to her over breakfast, but doesn't mention where he spent the evening. 

"What classes are you teaching today?" He asks, and Allison blinks at him. He's never expressed an interest in her classes before. 

It's a Thursday, so Allison's got some time off schedule for paperwork. "I've got a school visit in the morning, then some paperwork to do, and then two evening classes."

"Could I sit in on one?" Stiles asks.

"The late one, this evening, is the advanced class," Allison says consideringly. "It'll probably be more your level."

"I haven't had much martial arts training," Stiles points out. 

Allison shrugs. "Well, I'm not actually going to be teaching you, am I?"

"Point," Stiles says, smirking.

"What do you want to watch for?" Allison asks. 

Stiles shrugs. "My PT said I'm making far better progress than she thought. In two weeks or so, I can start training again and we can drop sessions down to once a week. I'm looking at my options."

"For training?" Allison clarifies.

Stiles nods. "I'd like it if you helped," he says, voice a little raw. "But you don't have to, obviously."

"No, that'd be good," Allison says with a quick grin. "My training room is in the basement, there's space for us to spar down there."

"Sweet," Stiles says. "So, this evening?"

"I'll pick you up or you can meet me there," Allison says. "It's at the gym near Derek's, you know it?"

Stiles nods. "I think so," he says. "I've got some stuff to do today, anyways."

"What stuff?" Scott asks, wandering into the kitchen. He always gets up later than Allison, every morning, and Allison has given up on trying to retrain him. Scott will never be a morning person.

Stiles blinks at him. "Just some errands, you know how it is," he says vaguely.

"You want my car?" Scott asks. "I've still got the bike, I could ride that to work."

"You still have the dirt bike from high school?" Stiles asks disbelievingly. 

Scott grins. "It's in the garage. I ride it on weekends sometimes." 

"Your car automatic?" Stiles asks.

Scott nods, says sheepishly: "I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

"Thanks, man," Stiles says. "I was just gonna take a cab, but now I don't have to."

"Tank might need filling up," Scott says, helping himself to a piece of toast and kissing Allison on the cheek.

"Sure," Stiles says easily, and relaxes in his chair. 

"I've gotta go," Allison says, pushing her chair back. "At the gym," she says to Stiles, "at 8, okay?"

"Gotcha," Stiles says, looking more relaxed than Allison has seen him the whole time he's been back. Scott grins, watching him. 

"Love you!" He calls after her, as she walks out the door. She smiles to herself, and goes to work. 

-

When she meets Stiles at the gym, she gives him a chair at the back of the class and doesn't ask what he's done all day. He looks strangely grateful for their sparse conversation, so she figures she's done something right.

She waits until her whole class has filed in before she mentions him. 

"Don't mind the guy at the back," she says. "He's just watching today."

"Are you being reviewed, Allison?" asks Danielle, a mouthy teenager who reminds Allison a little too much of Cora. 

Allison smiles. "No, he's a friend of mine who wants to see how I do things."

Danielle nods, and Allison starts leading the class in their stretches. It's a long class, 90 minutes, and Allison is aware of Stiles' presence the entire time. She glances over to check on him half way through, and he's leaning forward watching intently as her students are paired off and sparring. He shoots her a slanted grin when he catches her watching, and she gets back to teaching her class. 

She waits for her class to leave before she goes to talk to him.

"What did you think?" She asks.

Stiles smiles. "You're a good teacher."

"Thanks," Allison says, for lack of anything else to say.

Stiles smiles wider. "And I'd hate to go up against you in a fight," he says.

Allison laughs. "I really doubt that'll happen," she tells him.

"Good to know," Stiles says. "I'll try to stay on the right side of the werewolves."

"Shouldn't be hard," Allison says, "you managed fine as a teenager."

"That I did," Stiles says with a rueful smile.

"Oh, speaking of werewolves, I completely forgot to mention. The full moon is tomorrow."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Right, shit. I have not been keeping track."

"I figured as much," Allison tells him. "Danny's coming over and we're going to drink a lot of beer, probably. You in?"

"Sounds good," Stiles says. "You do this every full moon?"

"Sometimes we only have a little beer, because we have to work in the morning."

"Fair enough," Stiles says. He pauses. "I've been meaning to ask- Lydia?"

"She works at MIT now. She kind of wanted out of the supernatural."

"She's a banshee," Stiles points out, with a raised eyebrow.

Allison shrugs. "All the bodies she was finding were werewolf related though, remember?"

Stiles nods slowly. "So she lives in Massachusetts. Huh. Ever been to visit her?" He asks.

"She came back to spend Christmas with her family," Allison says. "We hung out some then."

"How's she doing?" Stiles asks quietly.

Allison smiles. "Pretty good, I think. You know, you could get in touch with her if you wanted."

Stiles shrugs, leaning on his crutch to stand up. "It's been years," is all he says.

"It's been years since I last saw you, and we get along fine," Allison says, as gently as she can.

Stiles grins. "We sure do," he says, as they head for the door.

-

By the time Allison has finished her first beer, Stiles is on his third. He seems to handle his liquor pretty well, probably because of a combination of his much higher body mass and all the practice he's had since they were teenagers.

"How come you guys don't go to a bar or anything?" Stiles asks, eventually, after he's brought back his fifth bottle from the kitchen. They're out on the back porch, looking out into the night at the full moon. Occasionally they hear a wolf howl. Allison pretends not to notice the way Stiles shudders at it. 

"Just in case we need to be on call," Allison says.

"You get a lot of full moon emergencies?"

Allison and Danny share a glance. "Some," Allison says noncommittally. 

"Nothing big since last year," Danny says, and Allison winces. Stiles doesn't notice, staring out at the tree they planted in memory of Stiles's dad, all those years ago. Allison wonders if Scott ever told him about that. 

"So you're all still alive and kicking," Stiles says quietly. "Must have calmed down a lot since high school."

"It was never going to be like that forever," Allison says. 

"Sure," Stiles agrees. Danny doesn't comment, presumably remembering how excluded he'd been for a lot of high school. 

"So what have you been up to?" Danny asks, after they've all spent too long staring into the distance, remembering. "All these years you've been gone."

Stiles turns his head to look at him, glances at Allison. "Can I smoke?" He asks, and she nods, so he tugs a packet out of his waistband. There's a flick of a lighter - it looks well loved, and if Allison squints she thinks she can see something engraved in it. He inhales, slowly, and Allison tries not to stare at the way his hand cradles the cigarette.

Allison's never really been attracted to bad boys - Scott was sweet and warm and when he wasn't, sure, he could be violent and scary, but Scott still felt good, always. Stiles, though, Stiles is a little darker at his core. 

Allison doesn't know what to make of it. 

"I've done 7 tours, now," Stiles says. "In and out of warzones. I'm a Staff Sergeant," he tells them, with a proud grin. "On leave, I spent a lot of time in New York. Sometimes I went to Florida, or Virginia, too."

"And you never thought of coming home," Danny says.

Stiles glances at Allison. "I came home after my first tour," he says. "I was twenty. My dad made it pretty clear I wasn't wanted."

"Oh," Danny says, quietly. 

"Yeah," Stiles says, with a wry smile. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blows out slowly. 

"You must have met a lot of people, though," Danny says.

Stiles nods, closes his eyes, and rests his head against the seat back, cigarette still dangling from his mouth.

"How did you meet Marina?" Allison asks quietly.

Stiles opens his eyes and scrutinizes her. Allison can't help but be curious, and she hopes that's all he sees in her face.

"Me and 'Rina were friends, first. Well. She was a friend of a friend down in Florida, and we hung out a lot, I guess."

"And you fell in love," Allison says, teasingly.

"No," Stiles says, smirking. "That happened later."

Danny's sitting forward now, watching. "You said you'd never slept with the same woman twice," he says, a little accusingly.

Stiles throws his head back, laughs. Allison tries not to stare at the pale line of his neck. 

"I lied," Stiles says, grinning. "It's still true, except for Marina."

"How come you didn't stay with her to do your PT?" Danny asks, and Allison shakes her head sharply at him. Stiles, still staring at the sky, doesn't notice it.

"I did promise to call her if I ever got injured," he says, rolling the words around his mouth. "Even after we broke up, she was adamant. I guess I should do that, soon."

"Oh," Danny says, flushing slightly. "I didn't mean-"

Stiles waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We ended it on good terms, it's fine."

Allison frowns. "How can you end it on good terms if you were going to propose?"

Stiles snorts. "You're very blunt this evening, Allison."

Allison shrugs. She is, she knows. She usually tries to exercise tact, but it's Stiles. He always used to be pretty straightforward about this stuff, and she wants to give him the same courtesy. 

"I proposed, and she asked me to choose between her and the army, and I chose the army," Stiles says quietly. "She was- I loved her," his voice goes a little hoarse. "But the army meant more. Still does."

"And she understood that?" Allison asks. She's surprised that they're still friends, after a blow like that. Going from marriage to my career means more just like that? It's... well, Allison admires their strength, at least.

Stiles shrugs. "She loved her job, too. She knew what it was like."

"What did she do?" Danny asks. 

Stiles smiles, a corner of his mouth rising like a tick. "She's a biologist at Columbia. She's crazy smart, only, like, 26 and working on her second PhD."

"You think you'll find someone else like that?" Allison asks.

"Rina's one of a kind," Stiles says. "But sure, eventually, I'll meet someone and fall in love and she won't resent the army. That'll probably happen."

"You don't sound worried about it," Danny says.

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not. You two may have your committed relationships and marriages and plans for children, but it's not top of my list."

"The army is," Danny says.

Stiles nods. "The army is."

He lights another cigarette, the previous one long since stubbed out.

"What have you been doing for the last ten years?" He asks. "There must have been something interesting in Beacon Hills."

Allison smiles, and leans forward, and tells Stiles the story of the disastrous vacation she and Scott took two summers ago. She tries not to think too much about how it sounds like she's talking about another life; a life that doesn't really exist for her anymore.

-

Allison is getting her suitcase from the attic when she hears Stiles' voice from the room beneath her. She thinks about not listening, as she tugs aside cardboard boxes which are full of what Allison is pretty sure was Scott's figurine stage (some of them might be Stiles'), but it's kind of unavoidable.

"Hey, Marina," he says, and that's when Allison realizes that Stiles is on the phone, and this really isn't a conversation she should be privy to. 

She drops a box of - she thinks it might be photo albums, but she's not sure she's ever seen any of them before - loudly on the floor, in the hopes Stiles might be more aware of her presence. She doesn't want to invade his privacy.

"No, I'm calling from Beacon Hills," Stiles says, unbothered. Allison frowns, then decides to make her exit from the attic as fast as possible. As soon as she finds her damn suitcase.

"I'm fine, Rina," Stiles says, sounding earnest. "I'm doing PT, should be up and running in a month or two."

There's a pause, and for all that she doesn't want to invade Stiles' privacy, Allison suddenly wishes she could hear what Rina was saying. It's not even a landline call, so there's no chance she can listen in. 

"I got shot, it's a hazard," Stiles says, and he sounds oddly defensive. "I'm fine. You don't need to come visit me, I'm staying with friends."

Allison shakes herself, tugs at another box. She's pretty sure she can see her suitcase in the farthest corner of the loft, behind all the other heavy boxes. She's been asking Scott to clear it out for at least a year now.

She doesn't even know how they managed to accumulate this much junk.

"Yes, I have friends in Beacon Hills. Scott and Allison, I told you about them." Stiles sounds frustrated.

There's a long pause.

"I don't know," Stiles says, his voice low. "I don't want to talk about it."

The pause this time is much shorter. "Rina," Stiles snaps. "You don't get to have an opinion anymore."

Allison bites her lip, sits back on her heels. She should get Scott, she thinks, or she should pretend none of this ever happened. 

"I'm not coming to New York," Stiles is telling her. "There's nothing for me there."

Allison frowns, because she's pretty sure the same is true of Beacon Hills. Stiles cut his ties a long time ago. 

"It's called moving on, Rina," Stiles says, voice suddenly soft and a little soothing. "It's okay to do it."

"I know, I got hurt. But I'm still alive and kicking, babe."

Stiles laughs, warmly. 

"Yeah," he says, agreeing to something. "I really love my job, what can I say?"

"I don't know if I'll come back to New York. You sublet the apartment for me, right?"

Allison shuts her eyes, because Stiles has had this whole other life in the last decade, and it's easy to pretend that he didn't, that he was just in between trips to Beacon Hills, but there's this whole other world of his - an apartment, an ex girlfriend - that none of them will ever be friends with.

"Alright," Stiles says easily. "Let me know if there's anything I need to do. Yeah, this number, I bought a new cell phone."

Allison is pretty sure Stiles has hung up, so she goes back to what she's doing. She gets the suitcase down the ladder with relative ease, and takes it to her room. She doesn't glance into Stiles' room as she passes to see what he's doing. She doesn't.

She's throwing clothes into the suitcase when Scott comes in, wraps his arms around her waist, and kisses her neck.

"Say hi to Chris for me," he says. 

Allison smiles. "I will."

Scott tugs at her until she's facing him. "You're not leaving because of - you know - are you?"

"He's my family," Allison says. "I've got to think about family."

"I'm family," Scott says, kissing her forehead.

"Yeah," Allison agrees, unable to stop the smile on her face. "We're family. I just want to talk stuff through with him, okay?"

"Like continuing the Argent line," Scott reminds her, and Allison freezes, smile slipping from her face. She knows Scott can see it by the way he performs an almost full body flinch.

"Sorry," Scott says.

Allison nods slowly. "You-" she starts, but falters and gives up on words completely.

"I love you," Scott says. "I'll always love you."

Allison swallows, throat suddenly, inexplicably dry. "But you love the idea of our child more than you love me."

Scott goes completely still in her arms, but he doesn't deny it. He doesn't say anything at all, and Allison pretends she doesn't feel tears forming in her eyes.

"Just take some time to think about it," Scott says eventually, and Allison nods, turning away.

She throws in another pair of shoes and a few blouses without thinking about it. It's a long drive to her dad's place, and she suddenly needs to get away. 

She zips up the suitcase with Scott watching her in silence. 

"I've let my classes know they're all canceled," she tells Scott, who nods. "I should- I'll go say goodbye to Stiles."

Scott nods again, and Allison doesn't check to see if he's still watching her as she goes to knock on Stiles' door. 

"I'm heading out," she tells him. 

Stiles smiles warmly at her. "Have a good week," he says. 

"Don't get Scott in too much trouble," Allison says, smiling back at him. Stiles makes things so easy, that's the thing.

Stiles nods solemnly, but he can't quite hold back his smirk as he tells her, "I'll try my best."

Allison turns to head out, and Stiles follows her. She checks her room, and neither her suitcase nor Scott are there, which she almost rolls her eyes at. 

He's standing by the front door when she gets downstairs. 

"Your bag is in the trunk," he tells her, and she nods. 

"Thanks," she says, feeling oddly stiff talking to her husband. 

She takes an uncomfortable step forward, lets herself be wrapped up in him. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs in her ear. "I don't mean to push."

She nods as they separate, suddenly unable to speak. 

"See you in a week," she croaks, with a nod at Stiles, and then she climbs in her car and drives away. 

She doesn't look in the rearview mirror, but only because she's pretty sure it would make her vision go blurry with tears.

She's not sure why this feels like the end. She's coming back. She is.

-

Allison's been on the road for an hour when she abruptly realizes that she doesn't want to run away. She wants to talk to Scott, to deal with her marriage issues with her husband, the love of her life. 

She pulls into a gas station and calls her dad. He doesn't know what's going on, not really, but she thinks he understands. 

It's another hour before she's home again, and she hasn't called Scott and she wonders if maybe she should've. She's too determined, though. Right now, she wants to make their marriage work.

She doesn't know how she's going to work around the child sized hole in Scott's heart. She doesn't know how to give Scott what he needs, but she wants to try. She doesn't want to lose him, not after all the hard work they've put into their relationship. 

She can hear voices as she walks in - she's surprised Scott doesn't call out to her straight away, but they're clearly mostly focussed on video games, so she shuts the door behind her quietly.

The first full sentence she hears stings, and she can feel tears prickling behind her eyes as Scott says to Stiles, "I just hope this week away can stop it all from falling apart, y'know?"

Stiles murmurs something assenting, and Scott continues on, oblivious to Allison's rising heart rate.

"I love her, but it's not enough," Scott says, and Allison wonders what she has to do in order to be _enough._

Allison opens the door again, and slams it behind her, so Scott will know she's home. 

"Scott?" She calls, as soon as the door closes.

You're fine, she tells herself. You're absolutely fine.

Scott's grinning when he sees her, which gives her an unexpected rush. 

"You're back?" He asks.

"I need to be here," Allison tells him. "With you."

"Yeah," Scott smiles. Stiles clears his throat, from where he's been hovering in the doorway.

"If you've still got this week off, we could start training," Stiles says, and Allison nods.

"Sure," she tells him.

Stiles nods, and leaves the room, leaving her and Scott alone. 

"Have you changed your mind?" He says, and his voice cracks half way through.

Allison shrugs. "I really, really love you, Scott."

"So you'll think about it," he says, and she nods.

She's not sure if she'll still be willing to do anything for Scott in a week or so - she's not sure if this is just reactionary, panicking because Scott's been in her life for the last twelve years and she can't start over again. She moved so many times as a teenager, and she's finally settled here, found a home.

She doesn't want to lose that, or Scott. 

There's a tightness in her chest telling her she might not have a choice, though. She'll work for it. She's desperate. 

-

The basement has been set up as a gym since they bought the house, and it only took a few modifications for it to turn into the perfect place for Allison to train. She doesn't do much practice with a bow or crossbow anymore, even though they've got a range in the garden, but hand to hand combat is something she enjoys immensely. It's her job, after all.

She starts Stiles with the punching bag, but he seems to be able to throw a punch perfectly well.

"Fitness levels?" She asks, and Stiles shrugs.

"I don't need your help to get my strength up," he says. "It's technique I'm looking for."

Allison grins. "You want to spar, then?" 

She leads him to the area with the most padded surfaces - even with his years in the army, Allison's pretty sure they'll be evenly matched. She's on top of her game at nearly thirty years old, there'd even been a suggestion she try out for the Olympics not long ago.

She takes him down with relative ease, and he's panting and red faced under her and they're both laughing like mad.

"Holy shit," he says. 

She grins down at him, and then rolls off until they're lying side by side.

"You'll get better," she promises.

"I hope so," Stiles huffs.

"Up," she says, and jumps to her feet. He doesn't quite manage to copy her - apparently he never really grew out of his teenage clumsiness - but they're both standing when they start at it again.

"Show me the first move you did," Stiles asks, and Allison does it slowly, watching Stiles track the movements of her limbs. This is nothing like the Stiles Allison has seen before, paying an extraordinary amount of attention to her every motion.

"Now you try," she says, when she's done, and Stiles executes it perfectly.

"You're a fast learner," she tells him.

Stiles shrugs. "When it's something I'm interested in," he says, and there's an underlying note to that sentence that Allison isn't sure she wants to put her finger on. 

They do it again, and it takes marginally more effort for Allison to take Stiles down this time.

"You have superhuman strength," Stiles says, and Allison smirks.

"Nope, that's Scott you're thinking of."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'd never try and get in a fight with him."

Allison laughs. "What about the summer before senior year?"

Scott and Stiles had both been seventeen, and Scott still wasn't all that used to being an alpha, and Stiles had loved to goad him, because that's what Stiles did. There had been more than a few fistfights that summer, before Scott had got it under control.

"I maintain that I was the innocent party," Stiles says, and Allison snorts.

"You were being an ass," she says.

Stiles shrugs. "Of all the people I'm entitled to be an ass too, I should think my best friend is one of those."

Allison pauses. "You still call him your best friend," she says quietly.

"Never found anybody to replace him," Stiles tells her. "If I had, I wouldn't be here at all."

"I think Scott needs you, at the moment," Allison confesses.

Stiles nods. "What happens if you end up separating?"

Allison lies back on the padded mat. It sticks to the skin on her arms unpleasantly, but she can't bring herself to move. "I guess we try to move on," Allison says.

"You'll keep in touch with me, if that happens, right?" Stiles says, and Allison peels herself away from the mat to sit up on her elbows.

"Sure," she says, when Stiles' facial expression doesn't change from utterly serious. "Of course I would."

"Do you think we would've been friends if it weren't for Scott?" Stiles asks, and Allison drops back onto the floor.

She smiles at the ceiling. "Probably not. You were in love with Lydia, remember?"

Stiles groans. "I was obsessed. I think of 16 year old me and I cringe."

Allison laughs. "I think everybody does, don't worry."

"Would we ever have been anything more than friends?" Stiles asks, so quiet Allison barely catches it.

She turns her head to look him in the eye.

"We kissed, once," Allison reminds him.

Stiles smiles. "I was pissed at Scott for doing something lifesaving without sharing it first, for about the dozenth time, and so you were you."

"And we were both very, very drunk," Allison finishes, and Stiles laughs.

"But you're married now," Stiles says.

Allison turns back to stare at the ceiling. "To your best friend," she says.

"You two are so adult," Stiles sighs. "I still feel like I'm going through basic, never graduating into the real world."

"We adults screw up a lot too," Allison says.

Stiles snorts. "I got shot. I got shot and I called my ex girlfriend to tell her about it. How screwed up is that?"

"You still love her?" Allison asks. It feels like it's too close to midday to be having these conversations, to be talking about love and what might have been. They seem like late night conversations, with a cold beer in hand and music playing softly in the background.

Not this. Whatever this is.

"I don't know," Stiles says. "I haven't seen her in months."

"Unlucky for her," Allison tells him, and Stiles grins back at her.

"Want to go again?" He says, jumping to standing and looking a lot less clumsy about it this time. 

They spar for two hours, after that, but they don't talk much more. By the end of it, Allison is wondering how much of himself Stiles keeps hidden.

-

Allison and Scott haven't really talked about anything important since her aborted trip to her dad's. She doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to fix this.

For all her hopeful inclinations, for all her determination, she's not sure if it's going to get better. She can't move on this, she's not willing to have children in this family.

She loves Scott, but it's a line she can't cross, and she doesn't know how to tell him that, at all, ever. 

The training with Stiles continues to go well, even if it's more intermittent now that she's back at work. They spar, but they never talk as much as that first time.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Allison asks, after Stiles gives far too easily in their third fight of the day. She knows him now, knows his technique and the way his movements flow into each other.

"What?" He says, blinking up at her with wide brown eyes that Allison can imagine losing herself into far too easily.

"You always lose the fight deliberately, like you think I'll hurt you if you push back," Allison explains.

Stiles blinks again. "Oh," he says. 

She reaches out a hand to help him up. "I'm not going to hurt you," she promises. "I'm trained. You don't have to worry about me doing you any damage."

"What about damage to my emotions?" Stiles asks, hand on his heart and pulling a face like he thinks he's a tragic movie heroine.

When Allison cracks up, so does he.

"I make no promises," she says solemnly, and that's when he takes the hand she's holding out to him and surges up to kiss her. 

She kisses back for what feels like hours, his body a warm line against hers. 

She takes a step back, puts her hands on his shoulders to steady - well, both of them, really.

"We can't," Allison says.

Stiles nods. "Sorry," he says.

"I'm going to divorce Scott," Allison tells him, even though she hadn't decided until right then, but that moment was when she knew she needed something else. Scott doesn't love her enough for forever, Allison knows that. Scott can't have just her, and Allison has only got herself to give.

Stiles swallows.

"Does he know that yet?"

Allison shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, Stiles," she tells him, but he waves her off with a half smile and a shake of his head.

"I kissed you," he tells her.

Allison nods, throat dry. 

"Are you going to tell Scott?" Stiles asks.

"Is there any point?" Allison says. She's suddenly overwhelmed with the pointlessness of it all, this whole mess. She can't say she's wasted years with Scott, because she's enjoyed them, she _has._

The finality of this decision, though, is terrifying. 

"I guess not," Stiles says quietly.

They both look up at the same time to the sound of the door slamming upstairs. 

"I should talk to him," Allison says, and Stiles nods, and doesn't make to follow her up the stairs. When she looks back at him, he gestures vaguely at the punching bag, and he looks so uncomfortable it feels like Allison's been punched. Neither of them can take back what just happened, even if it wasn't the first time they've kissed.

She's married. To his best friend.

It's a mantra she can't forget, even if it won't be true for much longer. 

Scott seems pretty cheerful as he dumps his bag on the dining room table. She hates to ruin that, but she approaches him nonetheless.

"Hey Allison," he says, but then his face drops when he sees hers. "What's up?"

Allison takes a deep, shuddery breathe.

"I'm not going to change my mind," she tells him. "You're not going to change yours, either."

"Al," Scott says quietly, and it sounds so broken that Allison can't stop the tears trickling down her cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," Allison says, and crosses the space between them. She feels the press of Scott's warm lips on her forehead. 

"It's okay," Scott says. "It's okay."

Allison twists her head to kiss him on the cheek. 

"We're just going in different directions," Scott says soothingly, rubbing his hand in small circles on her back. Why must he remind her why she loves him so much at a time like this? It doesn't seem fair, none of it seems fair.

"I don't want to say the D word," Allison says, when she stops sniffling. Scott drops his arms and leans back against the table to look at her. Allison doesn't want to look into his eyes - her eyes skitter around the room, recognizing the signs of the life they've made together. The wallpaper they chose together, the framed photos of the holidays they've taken together.

"We don't have to make a big thing of it," Scott says. "You can have the house, we adapted the basement just for you."

"Where will you go?" Allison asks.

Scott shrugs. "Maybe I'll go travelling for a bit, discover myself sort of thing."

Allison can't help it, she snorts. "Aren't you a bit old for that?" She says.

"I never took a gap year before college," he reminds her. "It'll be good, I think, to get out of Beacon Hills for a bit. You should think about going somewhere too."

"Maybe," Allison says. 

"Tell you what," Scott says. "We separate. Live apart for a little bit, okay? And we'll sort out the divorce, the house, everything, when we're a bit more used to it."

Allison nods. "What about Stiles?"

Scott smirks. "Do you want to have a custody battle over Stiles?"

Allison smiles. "No, I mean, he should stay with you. You two are best friends." That, and she doesn't know if she trusts herself around Stiles at the moment.

"Yeah," Scott says. "You've got a point." He's looking at her weird, though, like he's noticed her lie by omission.

"I'll stay in a hotel," Allison says. "You and Stiles stay here, so Stiles can train in the basement, and then I'll move back in when you go travelling."

"That sounds fair," Scott nods.

Allison bites her lip. "Look at us, handling divorce like adults," she says.

"We are adults," Scott reminds her, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but we're dealing with it like adults."

"I love you," she tells him quietly, hating the way her stomach drops as she says it, because it's probably the last time. 

"I love you too," he says.

"But it's not enough," she says, echoing the words she overheard not even two weeks ago.

"No," he says, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she says. "I'm going to go pack, make some phone calls."

She has to call her dad. She has to find a hotel. 

When did her life become this messy?

-

The hotel she picks is just out of town, closer to her work than it is to her house. She's got a suite, and she eats expensive meals every evening because the kitchen is tiny and useless, and she's exhausted. She figures, though, that she'll be here for a few months. At least until Stiles re-enlists in the army, if that's what he chooses to do.

Scott calls Allison on her day off. It comes completely out of the blue, and she really wasn't expecting him to reach out to her for a while.

"Hey, Scott," Allison begins, wary.

"I wasn't sure if you'd pick up," Scott tells her, but there's warmth in his voice.

"It's my day off," Allison says, though she knows that's not what he was saying.

"Yeah," Scott says softly. "I was wondering if you'd come over and train Stiles? He won't say anything, but I don't think it's doing him any good to be down in the basement by himself all day."

Allison finds herself agreeing before she can really think about what a bad idea it is, and less than an hour later she has a bag of training gear packed and she's on the way to... Scott's place.

There needs to be some redefining there, she thinks.

Scott's not around when she gets there, and she's a little grateful for it - though she doesn't dare wonder where he's gone.

"Scott said you were coming to help me train," Stiles says, without looking away from the punching bag that's swinging from the ceiling.

"It wasn't my idea," Allison assures him. She doesn't want Stiles to get the wrong idea - or the right idea, or really any idea at all.

"Scott wants what's best for everyone," Stiles says with a weak smile.

Allison wonders how many days he's been down here by himself, letting all the violence out.

"Our divorce isn't your fault," Allison says quietly.

Stiles swallows. "I was the catalyst, though."

"What Scott doesn't know won't hurt him," Allison says gently.

Stiles nods sharply. "He's my best friend, and you've been it for him since we were teenagers."

"Our ideas of the future didn't match up," Allison says. "That's nobody's fault."

"Right," Stiles says.

"Do you want to train?" Allison says, gesturing at the space dedicated for sparring.

Stiles shrugs. "Are you going to psychoanalyze me this time?"

Allison grins. "I'll try not to."

"If you can restrain yourself," Stiles says, with a tight grin. 

Allison smirks at him before remembering that this isn't normal, not anymore.

She gestures at the space between them, instead. "Where do you want to start?"

"Just sparring," Stiles says, and walks towards the crash mats. Allison follows, and when she turns to face him he's already got his fists up.

"Ready?" She asks, and he nods brusquely.

The fight is quick and angry, and Stiles' face remains closed off throughout. 

Allison still manages to send him to the floor twice, before he knocks her over with a casual swipe of his leg.

She leaps back up and grapples with him, feeling the heat of his body through their clothes. 

They're both breathing heavily by the time he hits the floor and taps out.

Allison reaches out a hand and doesn't say a word this time as he pulls himself up and stands about a meter away from her, panting.

Allison can feel her heart beat rising in a way that's entirely unrelated to the exercise she's been doing, and very related to the way Stiles is looking at her.

"I'm sorry for disappearing," Stiles says. "All those years ago. I'm sorry I never came back."

"You did, though," Allison says softly. 

"No regrets?" Stiles says, and Allison sinks her teeth into her lip.

"No regrets," she promises, but he doesn't take a step closer to her; doesn't kiss her the way she thinks he might. 

"We should go out for a drink sometime," Stiles says, voice silky and smooth, and Allison wonders if this is how he picks up girls in dark bars in cities she's never even seen.

"Yeah," she says, mouth drying up. 

Stiles glances at the mats beneath them before his gaze travels from the tips of her toes to her face. 

"I don't think we're going to get any more training done," he says, smirking, and Allison smiles.

"Maybe I should leave you to it," she tells him.

She doesn't look back as she's on her way out, but she knows he hasn't moved from his spot.

-

There's a knock on her hotel room door at about 6pm after a few months of living there. Allison is just deciding what she's going to eat this evening - if maybe she'll go to Isaac's and beg him to cook for her. 

"It's open," she calls, because she hasn't told anyone she doesn't want to talk to where she's staying.

Stiles stands in her doorway, looking just like when she'd last seen him.

"Hey," he says in greeting, and she stands up.

"How's training going?" She asks.

Stiles smiles. "I've re-enlisted. Going back in two weeks."

"Don't get shot," Allison says, sternly, and Stiles grins at her.

"Couldn't have done it without you," he says, and then he takes a step into her room and closes the door behind her. He looks so relaxed here, in low slung jeans and a henley that shows off how toned he really is. 

"You'd have managed," Allison tells him.

"Scott's planned his big trip," Stiles says, out of the blue.

"Do you think he'll meet the woman who can give him the children he's always wanted?"

Stiles smiles. "Would you resent him if he did?"

Allison shakes her head. "I don't think I would."

"You've moved on, have you?" Stiles says, grin turning slightly predatory as he takes a step closer.

Allison looks him up and down, letting her eyes linger. 

"You're a terrible idea," she tells him.

Stiles nods. "I know."

Allison bites her lips. 

"Two weeks?" She asks.

"Will you wait for me?" Stiles asks.

"I think I will," she tells him, and how did she manage to fall for Stiles without even noticing?

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's so close she feels the puff of air against her lips as she speaks. This time, it's her who closes the gap, and kisses him.

He tastes like potential.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr at [ladywolvs](http://ladywolvs.tumblr.com)


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